


what it does to me when you hold his hand

by heartinsidemine



Series: twist of fate [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Famous Louis, Fluff, M/M, Non-Famous Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartinsidemine/pseuds/heartinsidemine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harry Styles,” Louis says, smirking at him a little bit. He lets go of his hand and steps closer, tilting his head. He’s tiny, smaller than Harry imagined he would be. “How do you know our Nick, then?” </p>
<p>“I’m -- er, I’m an intern at Radio One,” he tells him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying to look as casual as he can. It isn’t as though he hasn’t gotten to meet loads of celebrities through his job, but Louis is easily the biggest star he’s ever met. As well as the fittest. </p>
<p>“Oh, a mini Nick!” Louis says, looking delighted. “Are you looking to present, then? You’ve got a voice that would be nice on radio,” he considers. </p>
<p>Harry’s fairly positive that <i>you have a voice for radio </i>isn’t actually flirting, but his heart is flipping all over itself regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what it does to me when you hold his hand

**Author's Note:**

> i decided i wanted to work on one of my thousand WIPs and instead i wrote this. it's really very silly and i'd like to continue it, i think, with something more domestic and something a bit kinkier. 
> 
> disclaimer: not true! title is from happily.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry says, very nearly dropping the beer in his hand. He turns to Nick and mouths,  _ fuck _ at him. 

Louis Tomlinson is, it seems, even fitter in person than he looks in pictures. Harry has never been as grateful to have Nick as a best friend as he is right now. 

“Hi, Grim!” Louis says, walking over to them. He looks over Harry, just a quick little thing. “Who are you, then?”

“Harry Styles,” he says, holding out his free hand. He belatedly takes the time to hope it isn’t as sweaty as he feels as though it is, but maybe Louis won’t blame him if it is, considering they’re at a party at the moment. He has no idea how this is what his life has turned into. 

“Harry Styles,” Louis says, smirking at him a little bit. He lets go of his hand and steps closer, tilting his head. He’s tiny, smaller than Harry imagined he would be. “How do you know our Nick, then?” 

“I’m -- er, I’m an intern at Radio One,” he tells him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying to look as casual as he can. It isn’t as though he hasn’t gotten to meet loads of celebrities through his job, but Louis is easily the biggest star he’s ever met. As well as the fittest. 

“Oh, a mini Nick!” Louis says, looking delighted. “Are you looking to present, then? You’ve got a voice that would be nice on radio,” he considers. 

Harry’s fairly positive that  _ you have a voice for radio _ isn’t actually flirting, but his heart is flipping all over itself regardless. “I’m not sure, really. I just know that I love music and -- well. I’ve known Nick for a couple of years, he told me about the spot opening up, here I am.” 

“You’re young, then,” Louis says, looking at him. “How old  _ are _ you, by the way?” 

“Twenty-one,” he tells him, cheeks going pink. He feels desperately young whenever he’s asked, considering he works with Nick. He’s barely out of uni, for fuck’s sake. 

Louis grins. “Oh, you  _ are _ young, aren’t you,” he says, reaching out to tug at one of his curls. “You’ve got quite a baby face, I might’ve pegged you for a teenager.” 

Harry doesn’t let the disappointment coursing through him affect his face, his tone, at all. Louis still grabbed his hair, still had a real conversation with him; it doesn’t matter that he very clearly doesn’t think Harry’s cute, at least not in a way other than,  _ isn’t that kid cute?  _ Which is fine. It’s absolutely wonderful, even, Harry definitely doesn’t need to get distracted by hoping that -- well. It isn’t as though he’d have a shot with someone like that. 

Louis gets pulled away just a moment later and Harry turns into Nick, groaning out.

Nick is cackling. He’s terrible. “Oh, love,” he says, rubbing his back. “You’re really very sweet, I’m sure he was charmed.”

_ Charmed _ . Harry groans again and pulls away, looking at him. “Please don’t tell Matt about this,” he says. 

Nick hums. “Mm. Get me out of coming in for that meeting next Friday and I’ll keep your secret.”

He’s talking shit, Harry knows he is; Nick may be a bit of a shit sometimes but he’d never intentionally make someone upset. Still, he knows Nick is unlikely to come into the meeting anyway. “Sure,” he says, and heads off for another drink. He could do with another six or seven. 

*

His friends tease him for a week straight, but eventually even that dies down. Harry turns Louis’s tweet notifications off, then back on, then off again. He feels ridiculous, jittery, even though all he ever tweets is nonsense about the football match he’s watching and how much he likes The Walking Dead. 

It’s been a week and a half since he met Louis and he’s out with Nick again. It’s just the two of them this time, which means Harry is substantially more drunk than he was before. He prefers it this way, when he’s with a few close friends rather than a thousand people he doesn’t know. 

His phone buzzes on the table in the middle of a conversation they’re having about whether this bar’s peanuts are better or worse than their cheapest beer. Harry jumps, flipping it over. 

Nick snickers at him, grabbing his phone out of his hand. “Tweet from  _ Louis Tomlinson _ ,” he reads, holding it up and away from him. “Mm, let’s see what he’s said, shall we? Oh, he’s lonely,” he tells Harry, pouting at him. “Used the saddest emoji and everything. Poor thing.” 

Harry makes another grab for his phone, giggling. 

“Think we should invite him out with us. Can’t be lonely with two of Radio One’s finest, can he?” Nick asks, still laughing, much louder now. 

“No! Nick,” Harry insists, getting up but getting stuck between the bench and the table. He can’t figure out how to make his body move correctly so he can get the fucking phone  _ out _ of his hand. “I doubt he remembers me, it’d be  _ weird _ \--”

“You know what, Harry?” Nick asks, giving him a very serious look. “I think you have to raise your self-esteem. You’re incredibly memorable, I’m sure he’s been pining about you just as much as you have him.”

“I haven’t been pining, fuck off,” Harry says, reaching out for his phone  _ again _ . 

Nick hums, looking at him. “Here,” he says. “Let’s tweet him, shall we?” 

Harry frowns at that. “No,” he says.

“Come on! He’s really fun and he’ll think it was funny even if he doesn’t come out with us,” Nick promises, giving him a pleading look. “You look really fit right now, all right, m’sure he won’t think you look like a teenager if he sees you right now.” 

Harry’s mouth works. “That’s -- that doesn’t matter,” he says. His voice goes fast and high like it does when he’s lying, though, and he can’t deny that a part of him sort of -- whatever. He might like for Louis to see him like this, that’s all. 

“You sure?” Nick asks, tone wheedling. “Nice, private bar for the two of you to get to know each other…” 

“Fuck off,” Harry says. “He’s not going -- here. I’ll prove it. Give me my phone.”

Nick hands it over, though he looks suspicious. 

Harry snaps a selfie. It’s dark but he does look quite good, and he’s fairly sure that’s not just the alcohol talking. He attaches it to a tweet and types, “ _ @Louis_Tomlinson @grimmers and I are hanging out, you should join us xx _ ”. 

Before he can regret it, he sends it off. “There,” he tells Nick, grinning at him. Nick’s always going on about how he never takes chances or does anything stupid, maybe this will shut him up for a day or two. 

“I think that merits a round,” Nick says, dropping his hand on the table twice. “All right. I’m gonna get -- you know what, I’ll just go for it. Bottle of champagne and two beers, this is a celebration!” He heads off, still talking, but Harry can’t make out what he’s saying over the music. 

Harry laughs, unlocking his phone and scrolling through his timeline. He really does look ridiculous, his hair a mess and his shirt all but unbuttoned. 

The notifications come through not a minute later, one after another.

_ Louis_Tomlinson liked your tweet! _

_ @Harry_Styles @grimmers aha sure ;) where?  _

_ Louis_Tomlinson is now following you! _

Harry freezes. 

He opens up a DM with him rather than replying in the tweet, in case this is a joke that Louis is pulling on him. He’d rather keep the humiliation to himself in that event. 

He settles on a quick, casual greeting and the name of the bar they’re at, bouncing his knee the entire time he waits for Louis to respond. Fuck. 

Nick gets back, setting down the bottles and two glasses on the table in front of them. “Made it!” he cheers. “I told the barman, but he was insistent on helping me. Showed him, I did.” He grins at Harry. 

“I think he’s going to join us,” Harry says. He sounds how he feels, shocked and not entirely sure that he’s telling the truth. “He -- I mean, Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

“Yes,” Nick says, nodding at him. “I assumed as much. I told you he’d remember you, didn’t I?” 

Before he can answer, his phone buzzes again. 

_ right, i’ll be there in 15.  _

_ this is harry that i met at the party a couple of weeks ago, right? just to make sure _

Harry laughs, setting his phone down and covering his face with his hands. He relays the conversation to Nick, who laughs at him, pouring him a glass of champagne. 

“To Harry!” he says. “Unless you’d like something stronger? Could get you a rum and coke, really make sure you’re feeling your best…”

“Fuck off,” Harry says for what seems like the thousandth time that night, grabbing his phone so he can respond to him,  _ yeah that’s me xx _ , and locking his phone again. “He’s going to be here soon, I think? He said -- um. Said fifteen minutes.”

“Mm, I’d guess closer to a half an hour, he’s terrible at estimating time,” Nick says, patting his pockets. “I’ll get him a drink when he gets here, all right? Don’t want it going warm because he misjudged London traffic.” 

Harry nods, still a bit mute. Louis is going to -- okay. Louis remembers him, remembers him well enough that he’s going to drive across London to get to see him. And Nick, Harry reminds himself, he’s coming to see Nick as well. He doesn’t like the thought, but he’s not about to ask Nick to leave so he can -- what, have another terrible conversation with him where Louis talks about how young he looks? No. No, thank you. 

Nick laughs, pushing his drink toward him again. “Come on, love. Drink up.” 

Harry drains his glass in a few sips, shaking his head. This is all right, he tells himself. It’s all fine. 

*

In the end, Louis gets there even later than Nick expected him to. 

Harry and Nick are in the middle of a heated discussion about the proper ratio of chocolate to peanut butter in peanut butter cups when Nick goes quiet and grins. 

Harry looks up and then behind him. 

Louis is walking toward them. His hair is soft and it looks wet, like he’s just showered. Harry, in his terrible drunken state, very much wants to run his hands through it. 

“Hi,” he says instead of any of that, stupid grin on his face. 

“Hi, all,” Louis says, and sits down  _ next to Harry _ . Next to him. Not across from him, next to the person he obviously knows better. Shit. 

“I,” Nick says, drumming his fingers on the table, “am going to go get you a drink. What would you like?” 

“Rum and coke,” Louis says, waving at him as he walks off. He turns to Harry, smiling. “Thanks for inviting me out with you guys,” he tells him. 

Harry is fairly sure his brain isn’t working anymore. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Well -- I mean, it was Nick’s idea.” 

Louis’s mouth twitches. “All Nick’s idea, mm? So you don’t want me here at all?” he asks, very obviously teasing.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, I mean -- I’m glad you’re here but I wouldn’t -- well. Wouldn’t have expected you to respond with anything other than a restraining order, if I’m honest.” 

Louis shrugs. “Cute lad like you? Don’t know why I’d turn that down,” he says. 

_ Cute _ . Harry is going to die. Right here, in this terrible bar that plays only the worst songs of some of Harry’s very favorite bands. He snorts. “Think you could find someone who doesn’t look like they’re fifteen who wants your time,” he tells him, taking a sip of his beer. Nick is lovely. He’s very glad to have Nick. 

Louis frowns. “Dunno what sort of fifteen year olds you’re around, love, but you absolutely don’t look like them,” he tells him, leaning back in his seat. 

Well. That doesn’t make any sense. “I’m -- you said it,” Harry insists, voice slow. “You said, the other day, said I looked like a teenager.” 

Louis wrinkles his nose like he’s thinking about it. “Did I?” he asks. 

“Yes, you did,” Harry says. He’s starting to feel a little bit hysterical, though he’s trying his very best to hide it. 

Just then Nick walks up with three drinks. Bless him, Harry thinks, as he takes a final pull of his beer and sets the bottle to the side. 

“How are we doing, then?” Nick asks, sitting down across from them. “Have we cured Louis’s loneliness?” 

Harry blushes bright red, but luckily Louis isn’t looking at him, can’t see. “Nah, were just talking,” he tells him, playing with the straw in his drink. 

Louis hums. “Harry here seems convinced he looks like he’s fifteen,” he tells Nick. 

Harry closes his eyes. All right, this is it for him. These are his last moments on Earth. He’s about to explode from embarrassment. 

Nick snorts. “In that shirt?” he asks, nodding at him. 

Harry looks up, frowning. “There’s nothing wrong with this shirt,” he insists. 

“Course not, but it’s hardly appropriate for anyone to be wearing, is it?” Nick asks, looking down his chest. “You look like you’re ready to pull, though I’m not sure I’d trust you to get out of those jeans you’ve got on.” 

Harry is even redder than before, and he’s very close to  _ hoping _ that he dies in the next few minutes. 

Louis laughs. “Have you got tight jeans?” he asks, leaning back so he can look him over properly. “I think you could definitely get out of those,” he tells him, lifting the hem of Harry’s shirt so he can check him out. 

Harry’s heart may have stopped. Christ. 

“Ah, but he’s quite clumsy,” Nick tells him, sounding as though he means to sound wise. “I’m afraid he’d get his partner into bed and fall over in his eagerness to get ‘em off.”

Harry finally gives in and covers his face with his hands, letting out a helpless sort of laugh. “I’m not pulling anyone tonight,” he insists, though it comes out muffled. 

Louis laughs as well, nudging his shoulder against Harry. “That’s no way to think,” he says. “I’m sure you could pick up anyone, looking like you do.” 

Harry shakes his head, pulling away and giving him a look. He’s still flushed and can’t get rid of his smile, but he can put a little bit of effort into it. “I’m all right. Really,” he tells them both. 

Louis nudges his knee against Harry’s, giving him a little smile. 

Somehow, they settle into an easy conversation after that. It’s a couple of hours before Nick, yawning and sore, begs off. 

“I’ve got to be at work tomorrow, very early,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Fifi’s going to have my head if I’m not chipper.”

“Haven’t you got to be there as well?” Louis asks, turning to smile at Harry.

He shakes his head. “Mondays are my days off, I help Matt on Saturday afternoons instead,” he says. “I can get going, though, if you’ve got to be off,” he says. 

“Nah,” Louis says. He waves at Nick, who makes a lewd gesture when Louis is turned away from him. 

Harry glares. 

Louis looks at him for a minute, lips pressed together. He looks thrilled. “Finally,” he says. 

Harry frowns. “What’s that?” 

“I love Nick very, very much,” Louis says, looking Harry over, “but I think you get a bit nervous around him. And he’s quite the talker, isn’t he? I feel like I don’t know anything about you at all.” 

Harry’s heart is fluttering in his chest. “I -- that isn’t true,” he says. “You know my age and that I quite like anything sweet to drink.” 

Louis shrugs. “That’s not very interesting, though,” he says, and his gaze goes a bit softer, smile a little bit sweeter. “I just -- I want to talk to you, yeah?”

Harry licks his lips, blinking fast. “Yeah,” he says, when his voice comes back to him. 

Louis is still smiling, though it’s a small thing. “I really am sorry for telling you you looked like you were still in school,” he tells him, playing with the hem of his shirt again. “That was very unfair of me.” 

Harry shrugs. “I’ve got an, um -- a baby face, you said,” he tells him. Louis is very close and Harry would  _ very _ much like to kiss him, but he doesn’t dare lean in and break the concentration that Louis has. 

“Nah, you don’t,” Louis tells him, looking up and meeting Harry’s eyes. “You’re quite fit, you know that? You look -- look older when you dress like this. Maybe it’s the tattoos, I don’t know.” 

He reaches out and traces his thumb over one of the swallows. 

Harry’s heart is beating so fast he’s positive Louis can feel it. Shit. He tries to make himself breathe more slowly, steadily, but Louis is so close and Harry is so drunk. 

“Guess I should go around shirtless, then, while you’re here,” he says, voice a little deeper than normal. “If I really want to impress you.”  _ Quite fit _ , repeats in his mind.  _ Louis called you fit. _

Louis laughs. “Oh, so you’re into impressing men, are you?” he asks. 

Harry shrugs. “I could be,” he says. 

“And you said you weren’t looking to pull.” Louis tuts, hand still resting on his collarbone. “Are you looking to find someone who’s into you? You want them to do all the work?” 

Harry laughs again, still a little shaky. He’s incredibly grateful for the many (many, many) drinks he’s had, otherwise he’d certainly make a fool of himself right now. “I don’t know that it’s that I want them to do all the work,” he says. “I just -- I’m not actively looking, is all.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Louis agrees, playing with a curl again. “Imagine everyone’s always falling over themselves for you as it is, it would make anyone lazy.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “That’s not -- not really true,” he says. He’s average looking, not unattractive, but nothing like Louis is suggesting. Even if he is teasing. “I don’t get hit on very often at all.” 

“When was the last time?” Louis asks. 

“Last time what?” 

“Last time that someone hit on you at a bar,” Louis clarifies. He’s leaning against the seat now, hand still in Harry’s hair. 

It’s hard to think with a distraction like that, but Harry makes a valiant effort. “I think -- last time Nick and I were out together? She was very cute, very sweet, but I wasn’t -- told you, I’m not really -- interested.”

Louis is giving him a look, one that Harry should be able to interpret but is absolutely mystified by.

“What?” he asks. 

Louis makes a soft tutting noise. “You’re wrong,” he says. 

“Oi,” Harry says, frowning a bit. “I know I’m not -- not terribly fit but she was hitting on me, I know she was --”

Louis laughs, getting his hand out of Harry’s hair. “You’re very, very silly,” he tells him. 

_ Silly _ sounds like  _ cute _ , sounds like Louis is only fond of him in the way he’d be of a puppy. He makes a face. “I don’t think I am, considering how much I’ve had to drink.”

“Let’s try this,” Louis says, scooting closer and resting a hand on Harry’s cheek. “The last time you got hit on in a bar? Right now. First time we met, as well, though I’m not sure that this girl wasn’t between then and now.” 

Harry was absolutely not expecting him to say that. “She was,” he says, “she --”

“Okay,” Louis says, feeling over his cheek with his thumb. He’s gentle with it, more gentle than Harry might have expected him to be. “Here’s a spot of advice: don’t talk about other people hitting on you while you’re with someone else.” 

Shit. “Sorry,” Harry says, and he means it. 

Louis’s smile is soft and very sweet. “I’m not upset at you, darling,” he tells him. “I do, a bit, want to hear all about why you didn’t think she was your type, but that’s my terrible jealous streak. I can keep it in.” 

Harry laughs. “I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll come back to mine,” he says. It takes all of his courage to get out. 

It’s worth it, though, for the way Louis is obviously taken aback, grinning at him. “Thought you didn’t like to put any effort in,” he says. 

“Only if I’m not already interested in the person,” Harry says, tilting his head a little so his cheek is resting against his hand. “I’d be an idiot to say I’m not -- very, very interested in you.” 

“Thank god,” Louis says. “I assumed as much but it’d be -- well, it’d be a shame to find out you really are just that friendly, just that sweet, that you blush that easily when everyone talks to you.”

Evidently, the bar wasn’t dark enough for Louis to not notice Harry’s embarrassment. He doesn’t much care. “No,” he says. “I’m really -- I quite fancy you. Come back to mine?” he asks again. 

Louis frowns a little. “I’ll come back, yeah,” he says, smoothing his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “Are you sure you’d like me to, though? You’re very drunk, love.” 

“I am,” Harry says, “I mean -- I’m sure. Please?” he asks, finally looking away from him and down at his own lap. 

Louis sighs, playing with his hair before he pulls away. “How can I resist that?” he asks. 

Harry smiles and lets himself be pulled out of the bar, leaning on Louis. It’s cold outside, freezing really, and he steps close to him, hugging him as tight as he can manage. 

“I’ll call us a car, all right?” Louis asks, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “You just stay right there, keep yourself warm.” 

Harry nods and rests his head on Louis’s shoulder. 

*

The next thing he knows, he’s in a bed. 

He blinks a few times at the ceiling. The room is dark around him. For a long second he thinks he must have made it up and his heart sinks, but -- that’s not the color of his ceiling. 

He sits up, looking around. He’s alone in the bed, but he doesn’t recognize anything. 

He has all of his clothes on, which is a good sign. Occasionally when drunk he strips off everything, and he’d hate to do that in some stranger’s bed. 

He gets out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and walks down the hallway. “Hello?” he calls, quiet in case anyone is sleeping. 

“There you are,” comes Louis’s voice. 

Harry is instantly more awake than he had been. Oh, god. “Fuck,” he says, looking up at Louis. Louis, who’s sitting on the couch while some infomercial plays on the telly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Did you get sick in my bed?” Louis asks, frowning. “If you did I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to change the sheets, sick’s the one thing I’m no good with.”

“No, I mean -- I fell asleep? And you had to bring me back here?” Harry says. He doesn’t mean to sound so questioning, but it’s confusing. 

Louis shrugs. “Nick texted me your address, but I lived closer. Anyway I would have felt weird sleeping on your couch if you’d stayed asleep all night. Come here, though?” he asks, reaching out an arm toward Harry.

Harry nods, sitting down next to him. “How long have I been asleep?”

Louis shrugs. “Twenty minutes, I’d say,” he says. “You’ve had quite a big night, haven’t you.” He’s clearly teasing but Harry can’t bring himself to mind when he looks so sweet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I invited you back to mine and -- shit. Fell asleep on you.” 

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Quit apologizing,” he tells him. “You’re very cute when you sleep. You talk, did you know that?” 

Harry nods, curling up with his feet under him. “Did I say anything interesting?”

“Nah,” Louis says. “Talked about Nick a few times. Almost made me jealous,” he says, playful and sweet. 

Harry hums. “He’s my boss,” he says, “nothing for you to be jealous about.” 

“Well, you never know,” Louis says, playing with his hair and leading Harry so he rests his head on his shoulder again. “He’s very fit. Tall, as well. You might like that, tall boys.” 

“Mm,” Harry says, half asleep again already. “No, I like being the taller one. Dunno why, I just -- I like it.” 

Louis smiles, Harry can feel it. 

“Hang on,” he says, sitting up a little so he can look at him. “Why would you be jealous of Nick?” 

“Told you, I’m the jealous type,” Louis says. He tilts his head again, looking him over. “And you’re very, very sweet and I’d like to get my hands all over you.” He shakes his head a second. “Not tonight, though, yeah?” 

Harry blinks. “Why?” 

“I’m not going to be the dick that gets you into bed when you’re drunk,” Louis insists, playing with his hair as though trying to soothe him. “If you like you can leave as soon as you wake up but I’d like for you to stick around.” 

Harry is in way over his head. “You’re serious, then,” he says, tilting his head back, watching Louis’s mouth. “You really do think I’m, like…”

“Jesus. Are you always this bad at taking compliments?” Louis asks, laughing. “Or have I just really,  _ really  _ lost my ability to flirt?” 

“You can’t blame me! You’re -- shit, I’ve had a thing for you for years,” Harry says, laughing. “I’m still not convinced Nick didn’t pay you to do all this. He loves his pranks.” 

“As much fun as it would be to tease you about that,” Louis says, gently tugging Harry’s chin up to look at him, “no, he didn’t. I swear. I think you’re very, very fit, and if you’d like to stick around tomorrow morning I’d love to snog you senseless.” 

“You could kiss me now,” Harry offers, smiling at him. His heart is going haywire even at the thought, but Louis  _ could _ . 

“Shit, you’re pretty,” Louis says, looking him over. “Yeah, god.” He leans in and kisses him very, very gently. It may be the softest kiss Harry’s ever had; it feels almost reverent. 

Harry leans up and kisses him again, a little harder. He rests a hand on Louis’s chest, right over his heart. 

Before they’ve even managed to properly snog, Louis pulls away. 

“No,” Harry complains, quiet. “No, come on, kiss me again. Please?” 

“Bed,” Louis insists. “I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep on me mid-kiss and that would be terrible for my self-esteem. At least if we’re in a bed I can blame it on how comfortable my mattress is rather than how shit I am at kissing.” 

“You’re an excellent kisser,” Harry promises, laughing a little. He really is very tired, though, so he sits up, shaking his head. “I’ve just had a lot to drink, I can’t appreciate it like I should.” 

“Shame. I should have asked you to come here rather than meeting you at the bar,” Louis teases, getting up and holding out a hand for Harry, pulling him to his bedroom. “Though I’m not sure you’d have joined me.” 

Harry shrugs, getting his shirt off and tossing it into the hamper. He works on his jeans, as well, but they feel tighter with his having slept in them and he can’t quite get them down his legs.

“Nick wasn’t joking,” Louis says, giggling a little. “Here, lie down,” he tells him, very gently pushing Harry over to the bed so he can lie flat. He tugs his jeans off for him fairly easily, eyes catching on his thigh. “What is that?” he asks, fingers tracing over the tattoo he has there. 

“A tiger,” Harry says, shivering a little. 

Louis nods, bending down to give it a little kiss before he gets back up, taking his own shirt off and tossing it aside. His jeans are looser than Harry’s and he gets them off without issue, climbing into bed next to him. 

Harry immediately curls close, hand on his waist. “You definitely haven’t been put up to this by Nick?” he asks, just to check one last time. “I don’t think -- like, getting nearly naked with me might be pushing it a bit far, if so.”

“I’ll show you far tomorrow,” Louis says, yawning. He lies on his back, tugging Harry close again. 

Harry laughs, kissing his chest. He still isn’t sure that he’s not just having a hyperrealistic dream, but he’s too close to sleep to worry very much about that. 

“Hey,” Louis says. “Kiss me again.” 

Harry scoots so he can comfortably give him a kiss, a little deeper than any of their others. It’s -- well, it’s fantastic and more intimate than he might have expected given who Louis is, how little they know one another. 

The kisses get slower, lazier, until Harry has to say, “I’m -- shit, I’m falling asleep,” with a self-deprecating sort of laugh.

“Good night, love,” Louis tells him, giving him one last kiss. 

Harry’s asleep before he turns out the light. 

*

He wakes up to an empty bed. 

He mercifully doesn’t have a headache but it does feel as though his mouth is filled with cotton. He frowns, rubbing his eyes again. 

There’s a glass of water on the bedside table. He drinks it down in one go, stretching after he’s finished it. Right. 

He gets up, electing to stay in just his pants for now. He doesn’t have anything else here, and -- well, getting into his proper clothes makes it feel like he’s going to sneak out of here. 

He does drag the blanket from the foot of the bed along with him, wrapping it around his shoulders and yawning. 

Louis is at the door, wearing joggers and not a shirt. He’s talking to someone, and he waves goodbye as Harry walks in. 

“Shit,” he says when he catches sight of Harry. “Thought I was quiet enough.”

“Enough for what?” Harry asks, yawning so big that his jaw cracks. It’s a second later that the smell of the food hits him, though. It smells  _ divine _ . 

“I haven’t actually got -- well, any cooking talent  _ or  _ any food in the kitchen,” Louis says, grabbing two plastic bags from next to the door and carrying them close. “I do have a bed tray, though, which is almost good enough.” 

Harry is starving, and very nearly in love. “Definitely good enough,” he assures him. “Very, very much good enough.” He grins at him. 

“At least go get back in bed,” Louis insists, pushing his shoulder toward his bedroom. “Let me bring you your breakfast, yeah?”

Harry laughs and nods, heading off to get very warm and cozy again. 

He only has to wait a minute for Louis to appear, tray full of food and a small glass with a rose in it. 

Harry can’t stop smiling. “Very sweet,” he tells him. “You’re wooing me very well, I can feel myself falling for you.” It isn’t at all an exaggeration, especially when Louis kisses between his eyes before getting into bed with him. 

“I hope that stays true,” Louis says, smiling at him. 

Harry nudges his foot against Louis’s leg, giving his shoulder a little kiss. “M’sure it will,” he promises. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter @ defnseless!


End file.
